Unspoken
by Crowded Angels
Summary: Whatever happens in there, I trust you. I don't want this opportunity to be blown because we were worried about repercussions when it's all over - Mac and Stella go undercover to help out an old friend.
1. Chapter 1

Hello and welcome – this has taken nearly five months from the 'Huh, what if…' stage to being postable, mainly because I had the ridiculous idea of screwing with the timeframe. There are four chapters to be posted over the coming weeks: Ch1 is the fallout, ch2 is Mac and Stella actually undercover and ch3 is the entire day, mostly from Flack's POV. Ch4 is an epilogue. I'm apparently a glutton for punishment. But it's been a brilliant experience and I hope you guys will enjoy it as much I have.

This would not have been possible without the help and encouragement of the lovely Lily Moonlight and Tricki. So much thanks, guys xx

* * *

Exhausted didn't cover it. He leant against the doorframe as if it was the only thing holding him up; he could have quite happily slid down it and caught a few hours nap right there on the locker room floor.

What had started at 4pm the day before was now pretty much finished at 10.15am, save for the pile of paperwork already towered on his desk and getting added to with each phone call from the Chief. Sometimes he hated this job. But, then, days like today (yesterday?) happened and reminded him why he followed the Flack family's footsteps into the force.

"Hey," Stella announced, coming from between the lockers. She was rubbing a towel through wet curls and dressed in jeans and v-neck tee shirt – not quite the attire he'd seen her in all night. "You look exhausted."

He gave a wry chuckle and stepped further into the room, "And then some." Rubbing a hand over his face, he sat down on the wooden bench by her locker. She didn't exactly look much brighter than he, just scrubbed clean with a rosey pink glow to her skin.

"Heard anything?" She sat next to him - the fatigue in her muscles making it more of a bump to the bench - and tossed the towel into her gym bag on the floor.

Leaning forward, elbows digging into his knees, he recounted, "Sixteen arrests, twenty five girls…rescued? Is that the right word?"

"Definitely," she mirrored his stance.

"Twenty five girls rescued then... and four children."

"Children?" Her heart stopped. Gorski hadn't been lying.

"The girl who kept screaming at you - Nadija - was shouting 'my baby' and has just been reunited with her two month old son."

Stella swallowed a rapidly ascending pocket of bile. Had she not already been doubled over, she would have had to put her head between her legs to keep from vomiting right there.

"DCFS have a two, three and five year old with them too; all girls."

"Had they… Did… Were the girls on the books?"

"We don't know yet. DCFS are taking them over to Mercy for a Medical."

"He offered them to Mac, Flack, there's a pretty big chance they were being exploited."

"Oh, I'm under no illusions, unfortunately," he swiped a hand over his hair again and straightened up, stretching the curve from his spine.

She placed her hand on his knee and gave a squeeze. "You did a really good job today, Don. Really."

"I didn't do much compared to you two. Oh, that reminds me," he dug into his jacket pocket and passed her two cigarettes and a book of matches.

"What are these for?"

"After that display in there, I felt you might be wanting one."

As happy as she was to see the sparkle back in his blue eyes; the smirk tilting his lips deserved more than just the dig to his side that he received. "It was all for the con, Flack."

"Mmhmm. That was some pretty good acting."

"I am going to take that as a compliment to my semester of drama at college and not beat the crap outta you like I want to…" she couldn't help but laugh. As exhausted as they both were, the gentle banter was a refreshing break to their day, though the guilt that had been gurgling in the pit of Stella's stomach quickly roared back to life – had she stepped too far with her actions?

He laughed, "I thank you for that." With a groan from seized, fatigued muscles, he pulled himself to his feet and turned back to Stella. "I'm going to go write up a report and down a gallon or two of caffeine."

Stella nodded; she had a similar afternoon ahead of her.

"Oh, and let me know if you want a copy of the tapes for the grandkids. Show 'em how you two crazy kids finally got it together…"

"_Goodbye_, Don."

She watched his retreating figure – his jerking shoulders belying his laughter – before sinking her head into her hands and digging her elbows into her knees. All the showers in the world wouldn't make her feel clean, nor the deepest sleep remove the images of her day from her mind. Those girls… that revolting specimen of man… the promises made…

She felt the bench dip at her side and looked to find Mac gingerly taking a seat next to her.

"Hi."

"Mac! Are you okay?"

He had his right arm in a blue sling, a cast over the wrist and a couple of fingers taped together, "I'm fine. Banged my shoulder up a bit, a rib or two and my wrist but nothing that won't heal."

She had her hand on his thigh and brought the other up to his cheek, assessing the abrasions that now bruised his skin. "You don't look fine to me."

He turned away from her touch, "It's nothing."

She wasn't convinced, but retracted her hand from his cheek nevertheless. He'd certainly had worse wounds, but that didn't stop her worry for him, nor her desire to nurse him back to health. It didn't sit right with her for Mac to be suffering. She could count on one hand the amount of sick days he had taken for a cold, a few more for when he cracked those ribs a few years back, but he was always fighting fit. Or just fighting to be fit when he actually was ill.

But sat next to her, with the cuts, bruises and bandages and the look of defeat in his eyes, she was _worried_.

"Something you want to tell me?" he asked, gesturing to the cigarettes by her side.

"Oh," a blush suddenly warmed her chest, "Flack's little joke. Listen, Mac," she slid away, not far but she had created a definite distance between them. "How I…acted in that room, I…I…"

"Saved both of our lives and those of the two girls. At least."

She blinked.

"If you hadn't distracted him as you had, I would be far worse off than a torn ligament and a few broken knuckles. And Nadija would definitely not have been reunited with her son."

"But-"

He closed the distance between them and pulled her into him using his good arm. He had some discomfort from his ribs but not enough to pull away. "Thank you."

She laughed against his shoulder, "I don't think I've ever been _thanked _for…_that_." She kept herself somewhat rigid, so as to not subject his injured frame to her full weight.

"No, I imagine a deity of some description was getting that accolade…"

She gave a hearty laugh at that. "Are you on painkillers or something?"

He was smiling as she pulled away and stood up, a faint blush colouring both their cheeks. She scraped her fingers through her damp hair and twirled it into a ponytail, her elbow nudging the locker door shut and causing the noise of metal-on-metal to reverberate around the room. "I'm going to head to the hospital before starting on the paperwork, if that's okay. I want to see Nadija and the baby." Her hands fell to her hips as she turned back to him.

"Of course. I've had enough of hospitals for today so I'm going to check in with Mason and see what the ADA has in store for us." He braced his good hand on the bench and put as much pressure as his body allowed as he pushed himself to his feet. One step forward, however, and he felt a shooting pain through his knee and nothing solid beneath his wavering hand.

"Whoa, whoa, you okay?" Stella asked, tucking herself into his side and under his arm. One hand splayed across his chest, the other across his back, worry etched deeply across her features.

"Yeah," he blinked, thankful for the stability she was offering. He bent his leg, testing out movement and garnering a sharp pain as a result. "I guess I twisted my knee as well."

"Well, it doesn't exactly surprise me, Mac," She shuffled closer to him as he attempted to stand on both feet, the grimace he flashed not lost on her. "I think you need to go home and…and rest up…"

She swallowed. She wanted to tell herself the sudden dryness in her throat and warming flush to her cheeks was out of worry, but who was she kidding? She could still smell the cologne he had doused himself with the evening before; the musky undertones suddenly triggering flashbacks to her actions, to his reactions, to those split-second thoughts that she fought from keeping but ultimately had to use in her favour. Their favour.

She breathed.

His heart thumped beneath her touch, his weight pressing onto her side, the solidity of his torso almost familiar to her now. The guilt that had once been resident in her gut had quickly changed to tingles, flutters, everything she couldn't afford to associate with _Mac Taylor. _

He breathed.

His exhale danced across her skin and caused a fallen curl to quiver, his eyes drawn to the caramel curl and the emerald green eyes it partially hid. He'd looked into those eyes every day for fifteen years but only now noticed them. _Properly_ noticed them. "Stella , I…"

"…will let me drive you home?" She cleared her throat and stole her eyes away, manoeuvring herself into a more supportive position under his arm. She practically steered him to the door as he gingerly put full pressure on his leg. "We need to ice that knee, too."

He hobbled with help to the door, using Stella for more support than he would have liked. "Stella, wait." He pulled them both to a stop, and suddenly realised that not one word was on his tongue. What did he say? How did he say it? Why had they agreed to Mason's ridiculous plan in the first place when it left him sore and limping and realising that there was a whole other side to Stella Bonasera of which he ached to see more?

"What, Mac?"

Both of her hands were on his chest now, his back pressed against the doorframe. He brought the hand on his good arm to her cheek and gently stroked his thumb across her skin. Holding his breath for whatever reaction she may have to his next action – bracing himself for more potential pain – as he brought her closer into him and touched his lips to hers.

It was soft, delicate, apprehensive. His mouth gently pressed against hers until he felt her – almost imperceptibly – lean closer into the embrace. The divide between darkened locker room and glaring corridor was lost on the pair as his confidence grew and he moved his lips against hers, deepening the pressure and passion and allowing the immensity of their night and shared experience to come to the forefront.

She slid one hand from his chest up to his face, his stubble scratching across her palm as she laced her fingers through his hair. A voice somewhere inside of her was telling her to _think_, but a louder voice was reminding her of the fantasies her mind had concocted that day and how the reality was _so _much better.

He pulled back and she smiled, almost dreamily, "Thank you."


	2. Chapter 2

Hugest of thank yous to everyone who has read/reviewed/favourited - I have really enjoyed hearing your thoughts! Hope this next chapter lives up to expectations.

Translations courtesy of Google Translation - I apologise for any inaccuracies!

* * *

It was harder than she thought it would be. She, well 'Katrina', just had to ultimately sit there and look pretty; possibly flirt a little and maybe look like she'd sleep with everyone in the room should 'Mike' ask her to.

But it was taking everything she had to not reach over that table and shoot Emil Gorski with his own damn gun. She was literally biting her tongue, sliding it between her teeth as Gorski chatted with Mike about his latest shipment, unbeknownst that Mike McPatrick was actually Detective Mac Taylor and she – with the low cut black and red dress and hand on Mike's thigh - was Detective Stella Bonasera.

"So how many girls are we talkin'?" Mike asked, his arm draped over the back of her chair, his thumb drawing shapes on Katrina's bare shoulder. She was thankful he maintained the contact because her heart was nearly beating out of her chest.

Gorski looked him over again – he was suspicious, but she figured that came with the territory. Who knew when a pair of detectives may present as undercover human traffickers in the backroom of a Manhattan night club in the hopes of trashing an international smuggling ring?

Katrina's eyes flicked around the backroom they had been led to, still assessing for danger. It was decorated in plush purples and blacks and looked better cared for than the club out front. Two girls - barely nineteen if a day - were sat tucked together on a far couch with fearful and glazed eyes watching the group. She didn't let her eyes linger on them too long; they were supposed to be invisible, and as much as it pained Stella, she had to play along.

The incessant boom of the bass from the music out front, the whoops and shouts from party goers, reverberated dully around the room and added to the tension headache at her temples.

She looked to their company: Gorski and the two bodyguards flanking either side of him. They all had Eastern European features and bright blue eyes; the bodyguards both had their hair gelled back and tight black tee shirts showcasing taut bodies and rippling muscles. Each had at least one tattoo of a religious nature that she assumed they had misinterpreted to have chosen the career path they had. It was like she'd fallen into a movie that she would have once thought to be stereotypical and inaccurate - how wrong she was.

Months of intelligence had taught them that it was Feodor – left of Gorski – that was staring at Mike and was most loyal to the head honcho. Olev, on Gorski's right, was the most sadistic to the girls and wouldn't think twice about taking his pick for the night and beating them into submission.

And Olev seemed to be taking a fancy to Katrina.

She fought the shudder from her spine at the intense stare he was lavishing upon her. A roving eye from top to toe; a sadistic, degrading smile on his lips. Somehow – she honestly did not know how – she was able to disguise her disgust behind a smirk and sparkle her eyes at him. Katrina would not be fazed by the attention so Stella couldn't be either.

She turned into Mike's side, her eyes never leaving Olev. If she could keep the bodyguard distracted, it could work in their favour should something go south with the situation. Feodor was focused on Mike and coiled ready to jump at Gorski's word, so the danger was far from dissipated but anything would be something.

Katrina folded in tighter against Mike, sliding her far knee to perch onto his and her hand ghosting up his thigh. She briefly considered she was getting too into the role when she playfully took his earlobe between her teeth.

It was lucky Mike wasn't due to be speaking because every coherent thought left Mac in an instant. His breath caught in his throat, a warmth suddenly igniting in his belly as he tried to focus on the pairs of watching eyes. They had agreed that anything that happened in that room was free reign and for the con, but he hadn't actually put that thought process into action. Would she keep this up? He didn't know why exactly she was suddenly sucking on his ear but he trusted her enough to know there must be a reason. _Hell, _he didn't care if there was or not really, the sensation was somewhat overwhelming.

He had to admit, he was liking this side of her. Maybe a little too much, considering the amount of focus he had to put on Gorski to remove the images of her in that dress from his mind. Her pout when Flack and Mason told her they could blatantly see the outline of her thigh holster had started it. Then how she just whipped up the hem of the dress, the sight of her toned legs silencing the three male team members in a completely obvious way, Stella twisting her pout to a coquettish smirk.

Their character briefs ran through his mind, telling him that Mike would be practically desensitised to the attention Katrina was bestowing upon his rapidly heating skin. But that was because Mike and Katrina had been lovers for many years, and Mac and Stella were just friends who had the occasional flirtation to break up the day or get a point across.

This was definitely going to be an interesting night.

Stella's fingers danced across the material of his trousers, her touch light and lazy but consistent enough to feel him tense beneath her hand, an enticing thought flashing in her mind that maybe Olev wasn't her only captive audience.

Gorski watched the display, a smirk tipping his lips. "Is she not…a little old?"

Mac felt Stella's hand tighten imperceptibly on his leg, drawing him back to the question. He narrowed his eyes a little, "I like to think of it as _experience_."

"How long have you had her?"

He looked to Stella, sliding his hand to her knee where her dress had fallen away. "About fifteen years now." He looked back to Gorski and tried to mirror the sickening smirk on his lips. "I taught her everything she knows."

Gorski laughed. "Well, maybe you can get yourself a new,_ younger_, model soon."

"Oh no, I don't touch the products." He waved his hands to the two forgotten girls in the corner, not allowing his eyes to stay on them long. "You don't know where they've been. Plus the thought of having to train them up again? I'm too old for all that now."

Gorski offered a knowing nod. "What is she? Italian?"

"Greek. I think."

"You think?"

"Well, she didn't exactly have a buyer's manual when I got her, you know? But she's been with me longer than she was ever in Greece..."

As focused as he was on Gorski, the flicker of a smirk across Olev's face caught his eye and made his blood boil. He had to give it to Stella for being able to switch off so well because he could only imagine how much she wanted to feed Olev some of his more sensitive appendages. She placed an open-mouthed kiss near his ear and whispered something in Greek. She could have whispered the Stock Market tables for all he knew or cared; the quiet, deep tone to her voice sent a shiver coursing down his spine that he was sure was barely, if at all, disguised.

"She doesn't speak English?"

"Why would I teach her a language she could complain to me in? If I wanted that, I'd just go down the street, or through that door," he gestured to the club out front. "I think your boy understands her appeal though..." Mike smirked.

Gorski turned to Olev and gave him a punch to the chest, due to his size it would have barely marked him but it was enough to refocus Olev away from Katrina's wandering hands.

Mac had only said it to prove a point and maybe get their conversation back on topic, but now he feared he'd just ruined Stella's side operation.

Apparently, he needn't have worried because Olev's gaze soon returned as Katrina fed her hand up Mike's thigh and just skirted the region he really couldn't afford her to lavish any kind of attention on.

Katrina smirked at Olev as she walked her fingers up Mike's stomach to his chest. Olev was mesmerised and visibly shifted as she sought out his leg with a stilettoed foot. She questioned him with her eyes, daring him to let her continue. Of course, he nodded.

"Why is she here?"

"She's the only one I trust with the girls. My boys used to think of it as their own personal buffet table until Katrina took over." He watched the pointed toe of her heels meandered up Olev's trouser leg, pushing up the material as she went.

"She doesn't…mother them?"

Olev, oblivious to his beautiful timing, chose that very moment to cross a sacred boundary and smooth his hand up Katrina's outstretched calf.

Stella retracted her leg and delivered a powerful kick to the edge of Olev's chair between his parted legs, narrowly – _narrowly _– missing body parts.

Olev was on his feet in an instant, his chair falling backwards with a clatter as he lunged forwards. Gorski managed somehow to grab hold of him as he was barely a nose away from Stella, his brows knitted in anger, vicious foreign words spilling from snarled lips.

Stella was spitting equally aggressive Greek at the man, her curls bouncing as she fought against Mac's grip around her waist, her feet leaving the ground as she kicked and twisted in his grasp. She managed to connect a slap to Olev's face, spurring the man on more and raising the volume and violence of everyone in the room.

Feodor - the silent bodyguard - was on his feet with his gun trained on Mac and Stella. He was the only one to not utter a word into the melee as he silently awaited the word from Gorski, who was now positioned between Stella and Olev and screaming just as much as his pissed off bodyguard.

"Katrina! Settle!" Mac shouted, not needing to restrain Stella too much as she had no intention of enacting as much retribution as she wanted too.

With a final word from Gorski and a painful slap to his cheek, Olev bent to pick up his chair and unceremoniously dropped to his seat.

Mac cupped Stella's face and brought her to look at him, staring into her eyes and calming her down with a smirk. Stella returned the smirk, her chest heaving as she laid her hands flat on Mac's chest and leant into him – to Mike and Katrina, this display would have been foreplay, so Mac and Stella had to play along.

She placed a languorous kiss to his cheek, her eyes lingering on his as he threaded his fingers through hers and both sat back down. Stella crossed her legs and smoothed down the hem to her dress. Her whole attitude was now calm and serene, a complete contrast to the now seething Olev.

The loaded silence that enveloped the group, save for the still constant booms of the bass from the club, was interrupted by the sound of whimpering. "_Quiet!_" Gorski spat, twisting in his chair to the two forgotten petrified girls huddled together in the corner. The noise stopped immediately, the girls folding further into each other.

Gorski turned back to Mac – _Mike_ – and straightened the lapels of his leather jacket. "Let us talk business."

Mac uncurled his fingers from around Stella's and draped his arm back around her chair, "Weren't we doing that?"

"What do you want?" He asked, ignoring Mike's question and the sight of Katrina's fingers drawing lazy shapes against his knee.

"What do you got?"

"I can have ten girls to you in an hour. Twenty-five by midnight."

Mike scooted in his chair. "Where are they?"

"That is not important to you."

"I beg to differ," Mike started, deepening his voice. "I don't want any girls that are currently down by the docks servicing every sailor they can find! My clients want them clean."

Gorski's jaw tightened. He looked Mike over again, hazarded a glance to Katrina, deciding just how far he was willing to go with the transaction. "We have a school. Well, to the outside world it is a school. In Brooklyn."

Stella's hand tightened imperceptibly around Mac's thigh; they were right. Had the wire concealed in her hair been a two-way, she would be hearing Flack give the go-ahead to raid the building they already had a number of armed trucks stationed by. Her heart was beating so fast now she practically felt light headed - this was the information they had gone through all this for.

"I see. How young are they?"

"How young do you want them?"

"How young do you have them?"

Gorski smirked. Mike smirked. Neither wanted to show their hand but someone was going to have to. "Let's just say...the school is equipped for kindergarten through all the grades..."

What was being projected as a smirk from Mike was actually a snarl of intense revulsion. He felt Stella's ministrations halt for a split second which was possibly more distracting in that moment than her actions had been.

_Kindergarten._

"I think we may be able to do quite a bit of business, in that case."

The glee within Stella of the fact that they were so close to closing the deal, to freeing these exploited girls, was heavily tinged with the fear that they had to get out there. While her fingers were playing across Mike's knee with her bottom lip caught between her teeth, her mind was rapidly dancing through possible exit strategies.

She glanced to her hosts; Feodor focussed unblinking on Mac, Gorski with white knuckles as he gripped his cell phone. They needed to discuss money. If they could get Gorski to phone his boss to confirm a price for all the girls, they could say the words Flack was listening for and pounce, arresting the men and seizing the phone with the main man's contact details. It was simple in theory, but terrifying in reality.

Her eyes flicked over to Olev. He was mirroring Feodor's intensity but focusing his gaze on her. His mouth was in a snarl, a deep seething disgust for the girl who humiliated him in front of his boss and denied him a freebie.

But there was something else.

Arousal.

Dilated pupils, sheen of sweat, quickened breathing; did the fight turn him on? It disgusted her even more to think about it, considering maybe he was used to a fight before getting what he wanted.

Maybe the game was back on after all. If she could keep Olev 'occupied', Mac could bring up the topic of money, Gorski would make the call, Flack would hear the hallowed phrase, they'd swoop in and she could finally get out of that goddamned dress and have a long hot shower.

She ducked under Mac's arm and tucked herself into his side, his fingers trailing lazy shapes down her bare arm. She laid her hand flat against his chest, his heart beating rapidly under her touch. Not for the first time that night, she had to admire his calmness. The frenzy within his chest was impossible to detect from his demeanour.

Allowing herself a second of thought towards her unexpected comfort, she was sure she blushed. This was _Mac _she was lolling over. It was _Mac_ who was the pimp to her hooker. It was _Mac_'s fingers that inadvertently stroked down the side of her breast as she bent forwards to her shoe.

She had doubled over to retie the tiny buckle of her black patent heels, her arms extending down her legs and pushing her cleavage together just a little in what had been envisioned as a diversionary tactic for Olev's benefit.

Mike had been giving Gorski a satisfied grin, happy with the progression of the night, his fingers aimlessly drawing across the smooth expanse of her arm. He was planning his next move, how he could get Gorski to make the call, with a vague acknowledgement to the goose-pimpled silk beneath his fingertips.

Mac felt her shift from his side, but not quick enough for him to move his hand. His fingers carried on their journey, their trajectory, but instead of bicep finding breast. They just tickled the material of the dress, a glancing pressure over sensitive skin before carrying on down her ribs and settling his hand at her hip.

Stella was thankful neither of her audience could see her reaction; the closed eyes, the quickened breath, the shudder from tip to toe. She swallowed down a suddenly dry throat before flicking her head up, curls bouncing, and winking at Olev.

Straightening up, she tucked back into Mac's side, his hand travelling back up to hang over her shoulders in what she was sure was prolonged for her tortuous benefit.

"So," Mike began, "We talkin' money? 'Cos I'd kinda like to get this one home if you catch my drift…"

"I make a call," Gorski muttered, moving himself away to the far wall.

Both Mac and Stella's bodies ran cold as the adrenaline coursed through them instantly. Their hearts beat into overdrive, pounding within their chests as 'showtime' loomed closer than ever.

Mac retracted his arm from around Stella and planted his feet firmly to the ground.

Stella sat back in her chair, slouching down just a slight and wrapping her tapered fingers around the seat.

They waited, listening as Gorksi spoke low and in a different tongue into the phone, his eyes darting to the group occasionally before turning away from their gazes.

Confident that the call had definitely connected, and reading body language to ensure he was speaking to the main boss, Mac pulled on his sleeve to reveal the watch Mason had provided. Grasping the face and twisting it to his view, he subtly clicked the button and cut the signal to the room.

He watched with a certain amount of glee as Gorski brought the phone from his ear, staring at the screen in confusion and muttering beneath his breath in what could only be assumed to be a profanity.

"Is there a problem here?"

_10. 9. 8. _

Feodor looked to Gorski, unaware he was soon to be on the receiving end of a jaw-shattering punch from Mac.

_7. 6._

As the bodyguard fell to the floor, Mac scrambled on top of him, delivering another blow as an almighty din erupted in the room.

_5._

The two forgotten girls screamed for their lives; Feodor groaned from hit after hit, unable to catch his breath long enough to retaliate as Mac searched for the man's gun. Across the room, Olev howled in pain as Stella connected a powerful kick to the man's groin, stiletto heel very much part of the action.

_4._

Olev's chair fell backwards from the momentum of her assault as he curled into a ball and turned to his side, his hands between his legs as wave after wave of sickening pain radiated through his body.

Stella stood over him, a smile curving her lips as she watched him writhe in pain. She wasn't sadistic, by any means, but what he was experiencing was the least of the karmic retribution he deserved.

_3. 2. _

A cry out from Mac broke her from her reverie. She spun to see him twisting off Feodor with Gorski's boot to his ribs, Feodor's gun clattering to the other side of the room.

_1._

Don Flack Jr smashed his way through the door, an army of armoured uniforms spilling into the room. Stella instinctively ducked as the once-locked door splintered and crashed from the force on Flack's foot. If it hurt him, he didn't show it as he barged into the room and planted his feet, gun instantly trained on the only guy still standing.

A confusing din of shouts and orders filled the room as Flack and the team shouted to Gorski.

"_Freeze!" "Stop!" "Police!" "Step back! Step back!"_

Stella stepped next to Flack and slid a hand across the back of his Kevlar vest, pulling her gun out of the back of his waistband and adding one more barrel to those aimed at Gorski.

Gorski turned to the onslaught, offering Mac a window to spin away and grab for the gun. Despite the screaming pain coming from his wrist from where Gorski kicked the gun from his grasp, Mac held the weapon and trained it on their host. He lay prone on the floor, his chest heaving and pulsating with pain at each breath from what had to be broken ribs.

The room was suddenly silent.

Gorski's shoulders dropped, defeat the only option from the amount of guns pointed towards him, with both bodyguards incapacitated and he unarmed.

The air was thick.

Breathless panting was the only sound as Gorski's shifting eyes negated his demeanour. Not for the first time, Stella was reminded of those standoff movies, the burning anticipation as no one moved, no one spoke, everyone just waited.

And then, slow motion.

Catching movement in the corner of her eyes, Stella watched as Olev - still with one hand cupping his genitals - threw his gun to Gorski. The weapon spun in the air, warnings barked from the Police personnel as one uniformed officer threw himself on top of Olev, a knee unknowingly hitting a hyper-sensitised area of his anatomy. A howl of pain fell on deaf ears as every pair of eyes followed the trajectory of the gun.

Gorski caught the glock.

A shot rang through the small back room.

Mac grunted in pain.

Gorski's lifeless body collapsed onto Mac's bruised ribs.

Flack dropped his arm, the reverberation of the shot still circuiting his body as he mentally made another notch onto his list of kills.

Stella looked to him as his brow furrowed, asking himself if he really needed to kill him, was it really necessary? She placed a hand on his arm, squeezing him to break him from his reverie and reassure him before crossing over to Mac.

His attempt to remove Gorski's body from him was hindered by the injuries he had sustained from the man, so was thankful for Stella's help in rolling off the dead weight. She touched his face, swiping at the droplets of blood colouring his skin. "Are you okay?"

He exhaled, trying in vain to hide the grimace of pain as he whispered "I'm fine."

The two forgotten girls in the corner had been silent through the ordeal, but now found their voices and screamed. The language barrier adding to their confusion, they scrambled further into the wall. To them, they were surrounded by men and guns, both of which had just killed and/or maimed three of their captors. They didn't know if the people in the bulletproof vests were there to save them, kill them or rape them.

"Go," Mac muttered, pulling himself into a sitting position.

Stella crossed the room and crouched in front of the two girls, dodging flying fists and managing to hold onto the arms of one of them. She settled, frozen in fear, as Stella tried to wrap her tongue around the words Mason had taught her. _"Unë jam nga Policia e Nju Jorkut. Unë jam këtu për t'ju ndihmuar."_

The girls' features changed from fear to scepticism. Mason had taught her Albanian, he had assured her that their intelligence had found the majority of the girls were Albanian, but now she wasn't so sure.

Stella repeated herself, taking her proffered badge from Flack and showing it to the girls.

The girl whom Stella was holding twisted her arms out of her grasp and instead wrapped her hands around Stella's arms. _"Fëmija im! Fëmija im! Ju lutem!"_

Though she understood the latter exclamation – 'please' – the former was lost on Stella. Now she was closer to them, she wasn't so sure they were even nineteen like she had first assessed; one thing she was sure of was that the girl before her was petrified. Petrified, exhausted, emaciated, and pleading. Pleading for something Stella could not understand.

Two uniformed officers brought blankets to wrap around the girls, Stella needing to physically uncurl the girl's fingers from around her arms to help her stand up. She was still repeating _"fëmija im!" _as Stella guided her out. The other girl collapsed into the arms of an officer, who hoisted her into his arms and carried her like a child. By the sounds of it, a childhood was just one thing the girls had lost out on.

They walked in the main club, a path cleared for them as more Police officials moved the scared and confused club patrons to the side.

"_Fëmija im! Ju lutem!" _the girl continued as Stella led her to a waiting ambulance.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you, everyone :)

Again, huge thanks to Lily and Tricki x

* * *

There were some times that Stella was thankful for the glass walls of the lab.

She didn't really appreciate them when she was pulling a multiple shift and attempting to catch a few minutes of sleep in her office. Many a photograph had mysteriously appeared on the breakroom notice board of her in a slack-jawed slumber, and she was 98 percent sure she had Flack and/or Adam to thank for the snapshots.

Alternatively, she was more than happy with the windows when an unfamiliar man was sitting with his back to her on her desk, rifling through her picture frames against the back wall.

The case file in her hand dropped to her side as she approached, watching him pick up a photo of Mac and her from last Christmas.

She swung the door open. "Can I help you?"

The man looked over his shoulder.

"Mason?"

"Hey, Doll," he smiled, turning off the desk and coming to meet her.

"How are you?" Stella grinned, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.

"Still goin', you know me."

She pulled back, his face still in her hands. It had been nearly two years since she had last seen Special Agent Mason Asher of the FBI, and it seemed the time had not been kind to him. He suddenly looked every one - if not more - of his 58 years.

She tried to keep the worry from her eyes as she guided him to perch on her desk. "What's brought you over from Federal Plaza?"

He crossed his arms, the long tan mac bunching under his arms. "I need more than the lure of a beautiful woman?"

"I hope not, but I get the impression there's something else."

"Just a ... proposition."

She'd missed that twinkle in his eye. The twinkle that said 'I love that I can spout innuendo and no doubt ridiculously inappropriate comments at you and you just twist that beautiful mouth into a smirk and don't report me for sexual harassment.' She had laughed her way through plenty of stakeouts when he was her boss back in Narcotics, before he became Federal and she a CSI.

"Should I be scared?"

"Scared about what?" Asked Flack, sauntering into the office with a grin. "Asher, how are you, man?"

"Doin' good, you?"

"As good as a guy can on a cop salary."

Mason laughed, "Not much difference to a Federal one."

"So what should Stella be scared about?"

"Is Mac around?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure he never leaves," Flack mused.

Stella smirked, gesturing for Flack to lead the way. Mason fell into step with her, entwining her arm with his.

"So is the proposition about a case or about why you're not wearing a ring anymore?" she asked quietly, out of Flack's earshot.

"Beautiful," he whispered, leaning into her. "If it was about the ring, I wouldn't be talking to Mac and Flack about it; I'd be carrying you to a beach as far away as my dodgy back would let me."

She gave a coquettish smirk, bringing her other hand up to squeeze his arm in comfort. His marriage had been rocky for years, but it seemed Carolyn had finally given up trying to get the man to leave the office.

"Mac," Don pushed open the door and held it open. "Found an imposter."

Mac looked up, a smile forming on his lips as he gathered up the case file in front him and crossed the office, his hand outstretched. "Mason Asher, to what do we owe the pleasure?"

Mason shook his hand, "Got a case going...could use your help."

"You've got one of the best labs in the country at your disposal at Quantico," Mac handed the file to Stella, "Why do you need us?" His arms crossed over his chest as he leant back on his desk.

"It's not your lab I need-"

"Sorry," Stella interrupted, her eyes flicking from the case analysis to meet Mac's. "Did you-"

"-They came through before."

"Does-"

"-Hawkes is heading there now with Lindsey."

"Okay, I'll give her a call later."

Mason bounced from Mac to Stella, watching the exchange with a smirk. "You good?"

She tipped her lips into a smile, folding her arms over her chest. "Continue."

"It's not your lab I need," he told Mac, "It's you. You, Stella and Flack."

Stella stepped forward, her smile falling as she mirrored Mac's stance against the desk. Mason gestured for Flack to close the door.

"I'm this close to cracking the biggest case of my life. You know I wouldn't ask unless I really needed you guys."

"What's the case?" Flack asked before the other's got a chance to.

Mason heaved a breath. How to synopsise eighteen months of work? "Human trafficking. New York, Latvia, Russia, Albania, London... Close your eyes, point at a map and they'll be involved."

Stella's eyes were wide. "What can we do?"

"My team and I have been able to track them down to a building in Brooklyn that they're fronting as a boarding school for non-English speaking girls. We believe they're keeping up to twenty five girls in there, the majority only entering the country approximately four weeks ago. We've had eyes on it for months but everything is legit to the outside world… until you know the 'Principal' is friends with some of the dirtiest scum Europe has spat out since Mussolini and Hitler.

"It's taken months... I don't know if we made more deals with our conscience, with God or with their top dogs, but we managed to secure a buy. We've arranged a meeting to take as many girls as they have off their hands and into our very own brothels."

"Feds have brothels now?"

"Feels like we're the top pros sometimes, believe me."

Flack's mouth twitched into a smile as Mason continued, "We arranged for two of my team to go undercover as buyers..."

"...and?" Stella asked after his speech wavered off.

Mason sighed again, wringing his hands. "Of the two women on my team, Jenny just announced she's pregnant and Carla is only a few weeks into the transfer. She hasn't built up the relationships or partnerships that this kind of operation needs."

"Asher..." Mac warned, already two steps ahead of him.

"I'm stuck, guys. I've been racking my brains for two people who I trust who can pull this off, but more importantly have the kind of _relationship_ to pull this off."

"Why us?"

"Come on," he scoffed, "I read the write-up about the explosion here. About how the Supervising and Assistant Head Detectives 'stayed behind and silently fought for their lab, using only hand signals and duct tape'-"

"There was a bit more involved," Stella said, her blood suddenly running cold as she remembered the fireball erupting from the windows and the three long seconds when she could only assume Mac was caught up in it.

"I know you two; _that_'s what I need," he gestured to the case file still in her hand. "Two people who can talk without words, who trust each other implicitly, and will fight for these girls because...well, no one else is."

Mac and Stella's gazes met as Flack stepped forward and asked, "What would they need to do?" He could tell that last line had pretty much sold them on helping out, but he still had some reservations.

"Meet with the guy and his two lapdogs in a club in Manhattan-"

"-So they'd be outnumbered."

"We're talking about a Marine and a woman I once saw take on three bikers because they sold meth to a kid and smashed her taillight."

"That was a long time ago, Mason."

"Stella..." Mason mused, not a doubt in his mind that she could do it all over again.

"Why does it have to be a man and woman?"

"A woman will throw their defences off. They see women as commodities, sex toys; a nothing that they can swap amongst themselves, beat into submission and rape 'til their heart's content." He frowned, the case obviously having got under his skin. "They'll underestimate the woman -Stella- probably even forget she's there. Which will certainly be in our favour when it comes to the big reveal and the arrests."

"And what would Mac have to do?" Flack said, once again asking before Mac had chance to.

"We've depleted their side project revenues progressively over the last few months. We seized drug shipments entering the country, deported some of their no-papers workers and got the health department to shut down one of their nightclubs in Queens, so their finances have taken a major hit. They need this sale. It's up to Mac to get them to confirm they're holding the girls in Brooklyn and to get them to talk about a price. The guy you're meeting with isn't authorised to make that decision so has to call the boss. We trace the call, you say something to signal it's go-time and ten seconds later we swarm. Job done."

Flack had no more questions. He turned to Mac and Stella.

"What do you think?" Stella asked, her jaw set and eyes intense. To anyone who knew her, she had already made her mind up. The steely stare, the barely contained bubbling outrage...but Mac could see the apprehension. Possibly because he was feeling it too.

They had been undercover before, but never together and never with such a complex narrative. A hell of a lot more was riding on the outcome of this operation than anything they had done previously. There was each other for one...

"I think we need to talk about it more," he turned to Mason, "Can we get back to you?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course. We're not expected at the club until ten so-"

"-Ten?"

"-It's tonight?"

"-What?"

"...Did I not mention it's going down tonight?"

"You left that bit out, Mason..."

"Ah."

Mac looked at Stella again. Yes, there was the apprehension but outweighing that was the burning outrage that it was all happening in their city, on their time. He turned back to Mason. "We're in."

Xx

As instructed, right after shift, Mac and Stella criss-crossed the city. Having left the city in brilliant sunshine, it was disconcerting to emerge an hour later to a dusky sunset and miles from Manhattan.

They climbed into the waiting town car, adrenaline fizzing in their veins as they began their journey back to the city. Mason assured them that the detour was necessary, to ensure they weren't being followed.

With their new destination unknown, they watched the city reappear before them, trepidation knitting the brows of their reflections in the windows.

Were they really ready for something like this?

Did they want to put so much risk onto themselves and each other?

What if it went wrong?

Eventually, over another hour later thanks to the traffic, the car descended into the underground parking garage of a Park Avenue skyscraper. Hands grasped onto the leather seats as the car swung around the darkened lot before pulling to a stop outside shining grey elevator doors, flanked with CCTV cameras.

The driver held a white key card over his shoulder and announced, "You'll need this."

Flashing confused, intrigued and just a little bit excited looks to each other, Mac shuffled forward and took the card, uttering his thanks.

The echo of doors slamming was followed by the short staccato of Stella's heels against the stone floor. Mac looked around for the button before Stella slid the card from his fingers and swiped it through the reader.

The doors jerked open and they took a simultaneous step into the cubicle, Stella's smile fading as the car pulled away and the enormity of the situation beginning to set in.

"Stella?" he asked, recognising the subtle changes to her features.

She looked to him, his voice breaking her from his reverie before she quickly swiped the key through the next reader. The doors slid closed as they were lifted to whichever floor the blank card was registered to. "Apparently rich people don't press buttons."

"I beg to differ."

Tinny muzak filtered through the speakers as they watched the numbers continue to climb. Forty two floors later, a bell dinged and Stella announced, "Wow."

The elevator doors jerked open, the New York City skyline shining and twinkling behind floor-to-ceiling wall-to-wall windows straight ahead. What minimal sunlight remained on the horizon glistened from the surrounding buildings, lights pinging on and off as offices closed for the night and the weekend.

It was incredible. Even for two people who looked at the vista practically all day, every day courtesy of 38th floor office windows.

"Insert comment here about Federal budgets..." Stella mused, stepping into the open plan living room and spinning on her heel.

Mac laughed, his eyes flicking from the view to the woman in awe at his side. "Thinking of changing sides?"

"You never know..." she swiped a finger across a white leather couch with black beaded throw pillows. It, alone, easily cost more than a month's rent. "My place has a view of a Chinese restaurant and a by-the-hour hotel - look at this view."

They both stopped before the window, eyes drawn to the beckoning sunset.

"Honey, I'm home!" came a call as Mason and Flack appeared from a back room. "You kids okay?"

"Waiting on you," Stella smiled, spinning around.

"Well let's get this party going," he gestured to the couch and two opposing single chairs, everyone taking a seat. He opened the manila file in his hand and lay out three long lens photographs on the short coffee table. "Okay, pay attention. This guy," he tapped the middle photograph, "is Emil Gorski. Latvian national, pretty high up the food chain. He'll be the guy you're talking to. He's cautious but generally unarmed because he has..." he tapped the two photos on either side, "these guys."

Mason slid one photo forward, "This delightful slice of humanity is Feodor Vanags. He's the silent assassin – never says a word and jumps just as high as Gorski requests. He's a ruthless SOB; get to him before he gets to you." He gave them a chilling stare.

He pushed the third photograph, "Olev Bezbiksis. Twisted, sadistic…enough to make your skin actually crawl. He thinks of the school as his own personal buffet table and regularly takes his pick. You don't want to see these girls when they leave his grip… And I have no doubt in my mind that he'll be watching you, Stella."

Her eyes met his.

"Be. Careful."

She nodded, her eyes falling back to the photographs. Her mind concocted images; scenes playing before her eyes of those faces hovering over her, snarling, grinning, laughing right before a fist connected. She imagined what the girls would have seen, heard, felt, _endured_.

She felt sick.

"One more thing," Mason announced, "There will be girls there. They keep two of 'em in the back room in case they – or anyone – get an urge. You can't engage them, okay? You gotta treat them like they would," he gestured to the three photographs. "As hard as that is."

Stella was tracing the outline of her pinky finger, her elbows digging painfully into her thighs as she tried to steady her heartbeat with deep breaths.

"Where will you be?" Mac asked as his fingers entwined, thumb tracing a pattern against his hand and arms resting on his knees.

"Flack and I will be in an adjacent alleyway in a van. I know, sounds obvious but it's effective and we can monitor you guys closely."

"Monitor?"

"We'll be recording and there will be a Judge on speakerphone to verbally sign the search warrant and give my guys in Brooklyn a green light for the school."

"What do you need from Gorski to get that green light?" Mac asked.

"We need him to confirm they're holding the girls there. That isn't going to be easy, okay? Like I said, he's cautious. That's number one."

"Number two being a price?"

"Exactly, and that is where the gadgets come into it." Mason reached into his pocket and, to Flack's disappointment, pulled out a cell phone and a hair barrette. He was hoping for something much more futuristic – along the sonic screwdriver line – but he could deal with a James Bond killer clicky pen.

"Mac, you get him to call his boss. When you're sure the call is connected, you press this button on the cell," he pointed to the little innocuous key on the side of the generic smart phone. "My techs assure me that this will cut off the signal in a two block radius but also - in a way I can't explain nor understand – patch the call through to my guys who can track it and negotiate and hopefully bring the bastard down."

Stella picked up the gold barrette. "And this?"

"This is a pretty little hair grip thingy."

"Is it anything else?"

"This is your wire."

She turned it over in her hand; to her – and hopefully anyone else – it looked like a golden pin with a crystal flower at one end. "This? Where's the…wire?"

"I have no answers for you, I just have trust in my techs. So once Mac's hit the button, he says 'Is there a problem here?' and _boom_. Ten seconds later, the cavalry arrives."

The tip to Flack's lips at the 'boom' wasn't lost on Mac nor Stella.

"_Is there a problem here?_" Mac repeated under his breath.

"Stella, I have something else for you. We believe the girls in the room are Albanian, so I asked one of the translators to prepare this for you," he pulled out an mp3 player and earphones. "Listen to it as you're getting dressed."

Stella nodded, collecting the player and barrette, "Where do I go?"

"Stella to the right, Mac to the left and we'll meet back here in a half hour?"

Xx

Flack's hands were buried in his pockets, his brow furrowed as he listened to Mason's phone call. He was confirming the location of the Brooklyn building, twenty of his best men and women already parked out front and waiting.

Flack had every trust in Mason but the lives of two of his friends were on the line so there was definitely an element of trepidation plaguing him.

Mac turned the corner and met them near the window, his fingers fiddling with the cuff of his new black shirt. Regardless of the symbol above his breast - nor the fact it probably cost more than a week's worth of wages - he much preferred his $30 shirts from Lucardi's on 5th. They didn't itch and he would swear they fit better, but what did he know about fashion?

"Lookin' good, Mac," Flack smiled.

"Thanks. Everything set up?"

"All ready and good to go. My people are in Brooklyn, the van is set up outside the club and Judge Mercer is waiting on our call. We're just waiting on Stella..."

"What, no felt hat and bellbottoms?" The lady in question asked the room with a coquettish smile, her hands behind her neck attaching a pendant as she gave Mac an approving once-over. Satisfied the diamond would hold, she dropped her hands to smooth the dress over her stomach, unable to hide the smirk - nor blush - at the collective gasp from the men of the room.

She felt their eyes travel from the black strap heels, up her toned legs and thighs to the red trimmed black dress. The red bandage detail across the midriff lead to a deep neckline that was now further accentuated by the diamond droplet and emerald vines that she would do just about anything to keep after their night.

She cleared her throat, her hip jutting to one side.

Mason swallowed, "Stella, don't take this the wrong way, but you are packing _heat_! I mean that both figuratively," he gestured to the curvaceous outline of her figure with a wink, "and literally. I can see the holster, doll, gotta lose it." He pointed to her thigh, the lump plainly visible under the short skirt.

She was afraid they'd say that - she didn't like the thought of going in unarmed but neither the material nor cut of the dress exactly offered many hiding places for her 9mm.

Accepting defeat, she brought her leg up onto the small coffee table and whipped up the hem of the dress. Reaching between her legs, she ripped off the velcro fastening and held the holster by the end, quirking an eyebrow as she lowered her leg. "Better?"

Mason leant against Flack's chest, his voice lowered, "I think I'm having a heart attack."

Mac rubbed at the back of his head, averting his gaze as Flack fought to hide his grin, telling him "Well, at least you're going out with a smile on your face."

"Flack, will you bring my gun and badge with you tonight? I'm going to need all the credibility I can get when this is over."

He smiled, reaching over and taking the gun from the holster. He slid it into the back of his waistband "It'll be right here."

"Thank you."

"Ready to go?"

Xx

Climbing into the car was an interesting feat for Stella. Mac, ever the gentleman, waited for her to be seated before sliding into the town car next to her.

They watched the familiar buildings fly past the windows, the night air bringing queues around the blocks of young partygoers of which - hilariously - they now were. The closer they got to the club, the more the sights blurred into neon smudges, their minds running through the night ahead. Character briefs, gadget buttons, pointed phrases...

"Mac?"

He blinked from his reverie and turned to her.

"I trust you."

He eyed her with a hint of scepticism. "I trust you too."

"No, I mean... whatever happens in there, I trust you. I don't want this opportunity to be blown because we were worried about repercussions when it's all over. Do what you have to, okay? Pimps aren't exactly known to be nice men, so if you have to...smack me around a bit to sell the con? Do it. Do not hold back."

He wanted to refuse her, to assure her that he had never raised a hand to a woman in his life and would definitely not be starting tonight and not with her, but there was something about her eyes; the intensity with which she looked at him, the determination, the vulnerability, the sheer emerald depths.

"Mac?"

"That's a two-way street," he told her. "Do what _you_ have to."

She cupped his cheek in her hand.

Xx

Shrugging off his coat and sports jacket, Flack removed his holster and placed it next to Stella's gun on the counter. Threading himself into his Kevlar vest, he left the ties free at the side and clipped his holster back to his belt.

His eyes fell on her gun.

She was never without her gun. Even when off the clock, she carried her pistol with her. That, and sheer determination, was the only thing that had saved her life when that bastard Frankie Mala had tried to kill her. Right now, going into arguably the most dangerous assignment she had had whilst on duty, she was armed with only the determination.

That did not sit right.

The fact she had Mac with her, who was still armed, did appease the heaviness to his stomach somewhat. If he trusted anyone else to protect Stella, it was Mac Taylor. But he would still feel a hell of a lot better if she had her gun and all this was already over.

He returned the cool metal to his waistband, and ducked under the chain to his badge, adding to it both Stella's and Mac's to return later.

With a silent prayer – Stella and Mac's badges between his fingers – he heaved a breath and relied on the faith more important to him than God: the faith in himself, in his friends and that they would all be going out for breakfast in a few hours and, by God, Mason was paying.

Mason had turned the speakers down as they waited for Mac and Stella to arrive. Partly to give the two some semblance of privacy for what would be the last time for a few hours; and also to ensure all the systems were set up, in working order and ready to record. Of course, they had been - Mason's tech had made sure of that, but Mason came from the school of 'if you want it doing properly, you do it yourself'. That mantra paled a slight when 'it' meant a state-of-the-art recording system and enough buttons to fly a jet across the Atlantic.

"Judge Mercer? This is Special Agent Asher, can you hear me?" he asked into his cell phone, clicking it onto speaker.

"Loud and clear. Are we rolling?" came a gruff reply.

"We are recording, yes sir. Detectives Taylor and Bonasera are en route and have been fully briefed on the situation and desired outcome. I have a team of agents and SWAT stationed in Brooklyn awaiting your green light and I have Detective Don Flack Jr of the NYPD with me in the van."

There was a pause on the line. "Flack?"

Flack looked at Mason, then the phone. "Yes, sir."

"I knew your father. He was a good cop."

He swallowed., "Thank you." His jaw set and blood ran that degree hotter. The last thing he needed was his mind clouded by family history when Mac and Stella needed it clear and ready.

"We're expecting a short and successful operation, Judge."

"Well, Mason, you get that and there's a cigar and a scotch in my office with your name on 'em."

"Sir, I get this? I'm moving to Cuba for a month and getting those cigars first hand."

The Judge barked a brusque laugh, his voice instantly returning to business. "Why can't I hear the detectives?"

"Mason," Flack gestured out the mirrored window to where a dark town car was pulling up.

"They're here. We're live, sir." Mason turned up the volume, Mac's voice booming throughout the van, _"Ready?"_

Stella's reply came in Greek - or at least they hoped it did or the microphone was fritzing out already.

"I'll take that as a yes."

To say Flack's heart was beating quickly would be like saying hotdogs were popular in New York City. He took a breath; one deep, nerve settling, heart beat calming, single breath. Showtime.

He watched as Mac got out of the car and jogged around to Stella's side, opening the door and offering her his hand. Ever the gent.

Mason tweaked a dial, the sudden cacophony of club music levelling out as a Stella entwined an arm with Mac's, the other grabbing at his bicep. There was a definite strut; a swing to her hips that she didn't usually have when walking the corridors with lab results tucked under her arm.

He wasn't going to lie, he could get used to the sight.

_"The queue is that way."_

_"Good to know."_ Mac replied, sauntering straight up to the door and confronting the bouncer. _"Is Emil Gorski that way, or are you just keeping me up on current events?"_

Flack and Mason shared a smirk.

_"Name?"_

_"McPatrick. You?"_

_"Follow him."_

Mac and Stella were ushered into the club and out of sight.

"Phase one complete," Mason announced, his attention switching to the two large monitors with eight CCTV viewpoints.

One screen was devoted to the four entrances: front door with the queue and bouncers; side alleyway with the dumpsters and dealer; back exit with the inadequate fire doors and the roof with no-one so far.

The four views on the second monitor were devoted to the inside and much more important: the swaying masses of club-goers; the corridor leading to the back room and two in the actual room. One would soon show Mac and Stella over Gorski's shoulder and another of Gorski and his two comrades over Mac and Stella's.

"You didn't say you had video." Flack pointed at the last two pictures.

"I informed Detectives Taylor and Bonasera that they would be recorded for evidential purposes," Mason replied, more for the Judge's benefit than Flack's. "I may have not clarified to the best of my knowledge in what media they would be recorded."

Flack's jaw set - he didn't like being spoken to like he was a legal layman. "And to what end did one not divulge said information?"

Mason's resolve softened, "I've been doing this a long time. I find if people know they're being filmed, they're careful with their actions, no matter how many times they've done it before. They second guess themselves and it leaves them open to being caught out. I didn't want that for them," he gestured to the two figures meandering through the dancing throng, following a steroid-addled bouncer to the back room. "This isn't a trust thing, Flack, it's a protection thing."

He exhaled; he still didn't like lying to Mac and Stella, but Mason had done this kind of thing more than he had, so he had to go with his advice. Not that telling the two about it now would have made any difference...

_"She cannot go."_ A voice announced over the speaker. It seemed to have the kind of nondescript, syllabic accent one used when mimicking anyone from Eastern Europe.

_"Yes, she can."_ Mac answered. They were standing in the corridor, the bouncer blocking the entire width of the doorway with his tattooed torso.

_"She cannot go."_

They watched Mac pull Stella in tighter to his side, _"Okay. Sure. When Gorski asks why thousands of dollars worth of business walked back out that door, be sure to tell him it's 'cos I brought my girl." _

Flack couldn't fight the grin from his lips as Mac spun him and Stella back around and walked a step towards the exit.

_"You wait there,"_ The bouncer said, sidling through the doorway and closing it behind him. They watched on the monitors as the bodyguard barely uttered a word to the three men in the room before opening the door again and announcing, _"You can go in."_

Both Mason and Flack blew out a breath - They had passed the first test. "We're in the room."

"He's good," the Judge said over the speaker.

Flack smiled, "You ain't seen nothin' yet."

_"Mike McPatrick, I presume."_ Gorski stepped forward, his hand outstretched to Mac.

_"Emil Gorski?"_ Mac swung his arm from around Stella's shoulders and shook his hand.

_"Welcome. I apologise for my friend - he is very protective of me."_

_"No harm, no foul."_

_"My other friend here, he will check for weapons and then we sit and chat."_

_"Well he won't have to check too far,"_ Mac lifted the side of his jacket, revealing his gun.

_"I thank you for your honesty. I will not disrespect you in asking you to remove it."_

Mac's head shook.

_"But I will ask for your permission for my friend to check for more. You understand."_

Mac took a beat, before fanning the sides of his blazer out and holding up his arms_. "Go for it."_

Olev Bezbiksis stepped forward at Gorski's gesture and proceeded to pat down Mac, moving behind him to check between his shoulder blades, down his legs and back to his front. When he stepped before Stella, well, _Mike_ had an issue with that.

_"Whoa, whoa, no one touches her."_

Olev looked to Gorski, the boss replying_, "Just to check for weapons."_

Mac took Stella's hand, held it above her head and guided her to pirouette. _"Does it look like she's hiding anything under there?"_

It was plainly obvious, even via pixels, that everyone in that room was giving Stella a _very_ appreciative once-over.

_"It is not only for a gun. It will tell us if she is wearing a wire."_

_"In my experience, wires come with a box. Again,"_ he spun her, _"Does it look like she's hiding anything under there?"_

Gorski sighed, _"No, it does not. Shall we sit?"_

"That guy is lucky he didn't lay a finger on our Stel, there," Flack smirked, more and more impressed with Mac's actions. "He would have had 20/20 vision of his own prostate."

The gruff bark of a laugh sounded from the speakerphone, Mason smiling with a knowing nod.

Mac and Stella took a seat, Gorski and the two bodyguards sitting opposite them on the other side of the small table. Mac draped his arm over the back of Stella's chair as she crossed her legs and turned into him.

"Here goes..." Mason muttered under his breath.

It took nearly forty-five minutes for them to start talking properly. To move away from the testing questions and into some semblance of trust. Mac was doing exceptionally, way exceeding both Flack's and Mason's expectations. Probably Stella's too, they imagined.

They were impressed to see that Stella had yet to lash out. The things she was hearing and had to stay quiet to…well, it must have been killing her.

An eyebrow was raised when she suddenly came to life. Having noticed that Olev – the misogynistic asshole – was using his 'charms' on her, Stella had taken to distracting him, keeping him a step away from the conversations going on around him. It was genius really – keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

Mason couldn't deny the worry, however, that her plan to distract Olev might be dangerous – not only for herself – and Olev, he thought with a smirk – but to Mac. The actions she was administering… well, they would be distracting to anyone, but the person experiencing them had a hell of a lot to do, in a short space of time and under extreme conditions.

Mason scribbled a note and slid it across the counter to Flack. 'You sure they're only friends?'

Flack's eyes flicked from the note, to Mason and back to the screen. An hour ago, he would have sworn yes, but now? He had a lot more respect for Mac – being able to concentrate when a lady like Stella was doing that to his body? He seriously doubted he would have been able to do it.

"_Why is she here?"_ Gorski asked.

"_She's the only one I trust with the girls. My boys used to think of it as their own personal buffet table until Katrina took over."_

"Nice," Mason commented.

"_She doesn't…mother them?"_

"Who-oa!" Flack exclaimed, slamming back in his chair as he watched Stella deliver a boot to Olev's chair. "Did you see that?"

"What's happening?" came a worried call from the Judge.

"Er, one of the bodyguards got a bit…"Mason searched for the word, trying hard to keep the smirk out of his voice as Mac attempted to restrain Stella, "touchy-feely with Detective Bonasera. They're now in a metaphorical pissing contest."

"In our favour?" he asked.

"Oh yes," Flack grinned, watching as Gorski shouted in Olev's face, the Latvian words loudly echoing around the van. The testosterone levels in the room seemed to rocket as Gorski pushed at his chest, eventually landing a slap to his face. Olev recoiled in horror, his gaze finally leaving Stella and landing on his boss.

The melee occurring around them seemed to be lost on Mac and Stella. He had her face in his hands, a look of excitement being shared that he had never seen before. Flack knew that there was an element of Mike and Katrina in there – an understanding that this whole scene would just be foreplay to a couple like them – but he could see Mac and Stella in there. Kind of.

With a long kiss to his cheek and a coquettish smirk, she smoothed down her dress and took her seat, settling in against Mac's side.

The cries of the two forgotten girls pierced through the speakers, Mason flying for the dial to turn the volume down. _"Quiet!"_ Gorski howled, the girls silencing immediately. _"Let us talk business."_

"_Weren't we doing that?"_

"Here we go…"

"_What do you want?"_

"_What do you got?"_

_"I can have ten girls to you in an hour. Twenty-five by midnight."_

_"Where are they?"_

_"That is not important to you." _

_"I beg to differ."_

"Judge…" Mason called.

"I'm listening."

There was a beat. A deafeningly silent, time exceeding beat, as Gorski assessed Mac and Stella once again. _"We have a school. Well, to the outside world it is a school. In Brooklyn."_

"Judge!"

"You have your warrant. Go!"

"Portable Unit One to Two, you have a green light!" Mason hollered into the two-way radio. "I repeat, Portable Unit One to Two, green light! Go! GO!"

"Affirmative on go," came a reply.

"Mason! Listen," Flack pointed to the speaker.

"_The school is equipped for kindergarten through all the grades…"_

"Shit," he pressed the button again, "Portable Unit One to Two, there may be children present! Portable Unit One to Two, be on the lookout for kids!"

"Yes, sir!"

The Judge's voice sounded over the speaker. "Asher?"

"Judge, thank you for your time. I have units mobile in Brooklyn and will inform you of their results as soon as I have them."

"Thank you. Good luck for the rest of your night."

"Thank you, Judge." Mason clicked the end button and returned his gaze to the monitors. "Okay, make the call…" He uttered under his breath to no one in particular. "Make the call and we're in…"

"Tweedle-Dumbass is paying attention again," Flack pointed to Olev.

They watched as Stella leant forward, her intentions not lost on them, and neither was the inadvertent path that Mac's fingers took.

"We get this over with, and I'm giving them the keys to Park Avenue for the night," Asher announced, his eyes wide and unblinking.

Flack would have smirked, maybe even agreed, if his heart beat hadn't been ratcheted up to overdrive; an end to the whole night so close he could practically taste it. "Wrap it up, Mac…" he muttered, "C'mon, bring it home…"

"_So,"_ Mac's voice boomed. _"We talkin' money? 'Cos I'd kinda like to get this one home if you catch my drift…"_

"_I make a call."_

Flack quickly tied his Kevlar vest and pulled his weapon from the holster. He dropped the magazine, checked it was full and slammed it back into the handle. Sliding a bullet into the chamber, he replaced it in the holster and waited for the words.

Gorski moved to the side as Mac and Stella readied themselves.

Flack and Mason got to their feet as they watched Mac's hand slide into his pocket.

Gorski looked to his phone.

"_Is there a problem here?_

"All units, green! Green! All units Go! Go!"

_10. 9._

The doors to the van slammed against the sides as Flack threw himself out and onto the street. Mason was barely a step behind, his pounding footsteps soon becoming lost in a stampede as units joined them from either side.

Weapons drawn, they ran for the front doors, the bouncers stepping forward to block the doorway as screams erupted from the women in the queue.

_8._

"FBI step aside!"

"NYPD out of the way now!"

The bouncers heeded neither command, and only moved when Mason shot a bullet into the shoulder of the biggest one as he reached for a gun.

_7. 6._

They swarmed into the club, uniforms and SWAT separating to their assigned quadrants. Their entrance barely made a dent into the awareness of the clubbers, the music blaring over the sound of their calls as the team barged their way through to the backroom.

The houselights sudden turned on, confused partiers blinked into the light.

_5. _

"Go for our guys!" Mason shouted, "I'll sort here."

Flack watched as Mason climbed up onto the stage, killing the music and commandeering the microphone from an angry DJ. "Ladies and Gentlemen, my name is Special Agent Mason Asher with the FBI. This club is on lockdown."

_4. 3._

Flack split right, followed by a number of his uniformed brethren. The tattooed torso that they watched Mac come up against earlier was waiting for them, gun trained at Flack's head. "Really?"

_2._

"Hey!" a holler came from another uniformed unit up the hall. The torso's head spun to the sound, Flack seizing the opportunity to whack his pistol into the man's temple, sending him crashing to the ground.

_1._

Two of the uniforms pulled the unconscious body to one side as Flack reared back and delivered an almighty kick to the door.

It crashed to the floor, Flack and the uniforms spilling into the room, each calling their own command of "NYPD!" "Freeze!" "Step back!"

Flack's eyes danced across the scene before him: three males on the floor – Mac and the two bodyguards – One male upstanding and Stella ducking straight ahead.

Stella stepped to Flack's side, her hand finding her gun down the back of his waistband and training it on Gorski.

It happened in slow motion, and yet in a flash.

The spinning gun, the realisation, the inhale.

The reverberation of the shot through Flack's body.

The grunt from Mac as Gorski's lifeless body collapsed onto him.

Flack exhaled, his brow furrowing as he added another notch to his gun. Another kill. More blood on his hands. He felt Stella's hand squeeze his arm, only realising what or who it was when he looked into her green eyes. The gratitude, the relief, the worry.

She was kneeling by Mac before he registered she'd moved.

The screams, cries and wails from the two forgotten girls fully broke him from his reverie, finding them to be scrambling further into the wall with fear etched into their emaciated faces.

"Go," Flack heard Mac say, Stella reluctantly leaving him and stepping over Gorski to the petrified teenagers. She had to grab at their wrists, their flailing limbs almost connecting with her as they screamed louder. They had no idea what was going on other than it was as scary as all hell.

She took a breath, trying to wrap her tongue around the Albanian words from Mason's mp3 player had taught her. She had chanted them aloud constantly whilst changing, but looking at the shock and confusion on the girls' faces…either she was pronouncing it all wrong, or they didn't speak Albanian.

"_Unë jam nga Policia e Nju Jorkut. Unë jam këtu për t'ju ndihmuar,"_ Stella repeated.

Flack stepped forward, lifting her badge from around his neck and passing it to her. She repeated the Albanian again.

"_Fëmija im! Fëmija im! Ju lutem!_" The girl shrugged out of Stella's grasp. _"Fëmija im! Fëmija im! Ju lutem!" _She repeated again, piercing blue eyes pleading as she wrapped her fingers around Stella's arms.

Stella was lost for words, only able to decipher 'please' from the girl's cry. She was startled to see a uniform pass two blankets into her vision. She took one, wrapping it around the girl as the uniformed officer enveloped the second girl.

"How's it going?" Flack asked, moving his gaze from Stella escorting the girls to the waiting ambulances outside.

"Never better," Mac groaned, a ghost of a sardonic smile across his lips.

"Need a hand?"

Mac heaved up his left arm, his teeth grating as his ribs refused the effort. Flack clapped his hand into his, lifting him to his feet as gently as he could and taking as much of Mac's weight as he could. "C'mon, EMT are outside."

Guiding him into the club, Mason bounded over, shock on his face. "What-What the hell happened?"

"I'm fine."

"Tweedle-Dumb and Tweedle-Dumbass need medical attention," he gestured back to the room, where two bodies could just be seen through the doorway.

"Gorski?"

Flack didn't say a word.

"Okay. Get him to Mercy," Mason pointed to Mac, before turning on his heel and clearing the path out of the club.

Whispered calls of 'oh my God!' and 'Is he alright?' came from the frustrated, suddenly sober clubbers as they watched Mac pass by them.

Stella was still trying to get the girls into an ambulance when Mac's drove away, sirens cutting into the night.

"I'll go process those two and get them cuffed to a hospital bed," Flack announced, his hands on his hips.

Mason nodded, "I'm going to head over to Brooklyn, see what we got out of the 'school'."

Flack nodded, turning back into the club as the uniforms began to filter the partiers into the frigid night air.

Mason spun, watching as Stella tapped the doors of the girls' ambulance before it tore into the silent night, following behind Mac. She took a deep breath, her hands clasped over her stomach, her face cast upwards.

"Hey, Doll," he called, her head lolling over to look at him.

"Hey," she smiled.

He walked over to her, "You okay?"

"Ask me again after I shower and sleep. Where's Mac?"

"En route to Mercy," he gestured over his shoulder to the retreating flashing lights.

"I should get over there," she stepped to move past him.

Grabbing her arm, he whispered "Hey," and shrugged himself out of his mac. She fed her arms into the sleeves with a smile, Mason pulling the lapels tight over her chest.

"Yeah, because this'll make me look less 'Pretty Woman'," she smirked.

"Does that make me Richard Gere? I could live with that."

She cupped his face, affectionately squeezing it as with a coquettish smile she told him,. "Mason, you're no Richard Gere. You're better."

He laughed, "Come on; let me drive you to the labs. You have clothes there?"

"Yeah," she nodded, falling into step with him as they crossed the parking lot to a squad car. "Talk about 'walk of shame'…" she laughed, looking down at her clothing. The mac was longer than her dress, and how it was tied across her body made it look like she wearing only that, heels and a smile.

"What you did tonight was the furthest from shameful, Stella." He stopped walking, ensuring he had her gaze before continuing. "I cannot thank you enough for what you, Mac and Flack have done tonight."

"No thanks needed," she told him. "Just give me keys to the apartment on Park and we'll be even."

He opened the passenger side door for her, "I was actually talking to Flack about that earlier…"


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you to everyone who has read, and bigger thanks to those who have reviewed. I appreciate both and love that you seem to have enjoyed this road as much as me! I'm now off on a much _much_ needed break in the sun (I'm British, this is new for me) so posting the Epilogue before I go.

Thanks again xx

* * *

'Sex Ring Wrung.'

It wasn't the best of the headlines that the case had received, but it was the one someone had thought to cut out of the paper and stick on the breakroom fridge.

Stella had thought about taking it down – nearly a month had passed – but its presence had seemed to abate the photographs of her asleep in the office, so…

She brought the mug to her lips and blew at the steaming coffee, one arm wrapped around her waist as she read the article again. The picture was out of focus and pixelated – thank God for drunken cell phone users – but to anyone who knew her, she was easy to make out; striding out onto the sidewalk with a blurred-out Nadija at her side.

"Stella?" Adam's voice announced from the doorway. "This was at the front desk for you," he said when she turned to him. His eyes flicked to the article, then back to her, his face reddening as he passed her the envelope.

"Thanks," Stella smiled. Adam's postured epitomised awkwardness before he scurried back to his lab. She had to laugh; he hadn't been able to look at her properly since he inadvertently caught her 'Walk of Shame' to the locker room that night. The sight of her in apparently just her heels and Mason's mac, before he'd had a morning coffee, had seemingly been too much for him.

Watching his half-run through the corridors, she spotted Flack coming towards her with a smirk. "Is he still flustered around you?" he asked.

"I am a very flustering woman, Flack."

He grinned, his blue eyes glistening at her stoic expression, "Indeed. Where's Mac?"

"He's at Mercy getting the cast off. Should be back any minute."

"So no more one-armed bandit jokes?"

"No more."

"Damn."

She laughed, gesturing over his shoulder to the man in question crossing from the elevators into his office. She fell into step with Flack as they followed Mac's path, Flack opening the door and announcing, "Lookin' good, Mac."

"Thanks," he smiled, twisting his newly-freed wrist.

"It feel okay?" Stella asked.

"A bit stiff," he flicked through his messages on his desk, "but better than it has the last four weeks. A few physio sessions and I'm back to normal."

"Good to have you back," Flack said. The reduced workload Mac was forced into had taken a toll on everyone, but mostly Flack was just glad the injuries weren't a permanent feature, a very possible outcome from that night. "I have a suspect sweating it out in one of the interview rooms, s'pose I should go, y'know, interview him."

Stella smirked, watching him shrug before spinning on his heel and leaving the office.

"You sure it feels okay?"

"I'm sure," Mac said, twisting his wrist and shoulder and doing a decent job of hiding the grimace from his face. "What's the package?"

She laughed at his quick subject change and looked down at it, forgetting it was still in her hand. "It's from Mason…" she said, reading the return address in the top corner.

"Maybe it's that necklace…"

She scowled at him, though her eyes didn't quite follow through with the sentiment. Her lack of that diamond and emerald necklace was still a sore subject.

She put her mug down on a stack of his paperwork – garnering a pointed stare from Mac – and ripped into the envelope. She pulled out a postcard, a bevy of tanned women looking at her over their shoulders, various sizes of bikini bottoms down to just tan lines barely hidden by the caption 'Cuba is Booty-ful!'

She shook her head with a smirk, flipping it over to read Mason's scrawl declare: 'I hear Mac's got two hands again. See he puts them to good use for the weekend xx'

She emptied out the envelope into her hand, a white key card falling onto her palm.


End file.
